


Terms of Service

by Dolf241



Series: Korriban Nights [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Doggy Style, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Femdom, Hair-pulling, He gets into it pretty quickly, Lekku abuse, Minor Character Death, Not actually as nasty as it sounds, Piercings, Rough Sex, Slavery, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22747510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolf241/pseuds/Dolf241
Summary: Vilesha Sisk, a young Sith Pureblood seeking to cement her place in Korriban's cut-throat society, finds one of her new slaves has skills beyond pressing her clothes and serving her food. This fic includes depictions of slavery, passing descriptions of violence, and the non-sexualised death of a supporting character.
Relationships: Sith Pureblood/Twi'lek
Series: Korriban Nights [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635616
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Terms of Service

Korriban's slave markets were always busy. The largest was located around the base of that ancient world's primary starport, having grown from a small center devoted to processing military prisoners of war to a thriving shantytown that traded in toil and suffering. Bounty Hunters rubbed shoulders with troopers of the Sith Empire's army as gangs of scarred, weather-beaten men and women hauled living cargo from the bellies of their freighters, herding the latest rabble of unfortunates into long chain-gangs and leading them through the streets to be sorted, culled, and finally sold to their new owners.

The noise was constant and deafening. The harsh buzz of electro-goads and shock collars filled the air with a hum loud enough to set one's teeth on edge, punctuated by the occasional sharp crack of blasters being used to execute the weak or unruly. But the noise ceased and crowds parted before the handful of figures who drifted between the stands; bedecked in black robes and rune-inscribed armour, their faces tattooed, pierced or hidden behind snarling helms that turned the stomach to look upon. They were the markets' formost patrons, and they were the Sith who ruled Korriban like gods in flesh.

Vilesha Sisk despised the slave markets. She had no objection to slavery, of course. Where the Republic allowed the dregs of society to slip into dismal lives of crime and poverty, or abandoned its criminals to languish in prison blocks, in the Empire such unfortunates would be well-kept and put to productive use. A slave could thus be turned into a valuable asset to society, one who might eventually rise high enough to earn back their freedom.

Reality, to her utmost disappointment, failed to match the promise. Pain and cruelty had their uses, Vilesha knew. But too often such things ran to excess. Her lip curled in distaste as she passed a group of Trandoshan mercenaries viciously beating a fallen Wookiee, their mocking laughter drowned out by the prone creature's howls of pain and the electric buzz of their shock-batons. Order had to be enforced. Disobedience had to be punished. But too often, such things ran to excess. It was needless, she thought. Wasteful.

She passed by without giving the scene a backwards look. It would have been difficult to describe the Sith as beautiful. Striking, certainly. Handsome, perhaps. But beautiful was a soft word, fit for Twi'leks and Zeltron, and there was little soft about the Pureblood. Her face was hard and stern, her skin the deep red of clotted blood. Ridges of bone exaggerated Vilesha's already stark cheekbones, while a pair of long, sharp spurs flanked her narrow chin. The bridge of her nose was lined with three golden ritual piercings, while a gnarled scar - the legacy of a blaster shot that had almost taken her head off - carved a furrow through her thick, dark hair from her right temple to the back of her ear. Like many of the other Sith gliding through the crowds she had come armoured, though her archaic silver and gold cuirass was of a far older make than their modern battle-dress.

Her people had truly ruled Korriban once. Then the Jen'Jidai had come, those first Jedi who had been exiled by their peers for dabbling with the Dark Side of the Force. They conquered the ancient tribal Sith, adopted their name and stole their knowledge of the Dark Side, then crossbred and hybridised their new slaves into more pleasing forms. Over the centuries since, the "Purebloods" - a bitterly ironic name, Vilesha considered, given how no genuinely pure-blooded Sith remained - had clawed their way up their conquerors' hierarchy, elevating themselves from slaves to valued servants and in some cases, even rulers. But even that had come at a price. Generations of interbreeding with humans had thinned their blood catastrophically. Korriban was steeped in the darker aspects of the Force, and everything born of that world carried an innate connection to the Dark Side. But that connection was becoming weaker. Vilesha herself was one of a small, unlucky, but growing number of children no more sensitive to the Force than the average human.

Which was what had brought her to the markets. Her position within the Sith Empire was tenuous at best. If her rivals saw anything that suggested vulnerability they would pounce, and a Sith too weak to own slaves would very quickly find herself the target of her peers. So she strode through the crowds, face locked in an expression of faint contempt, searching for a merchant who might provide her with worthy servants. Prisoners of war, she thought. A handful of the Republic's warriors would make a grander statement than dozens of hapless serfs.

It was a more difficult search than she would have liked. Most of the slaves brought in were broken, cringing things; civilians, often colonists from the Far Rim, harvested in great numbers and subjected to weeks of starvation and torture to break their spirits before arrival at Korriban. Their new masters saw such wretches as utterly disposable and happily worked them to death or consumed them in their experiments, replacing the fallen with riches they had claimed during the war. Wasteful, Vilesha thought again. She swept alongside a column of sobbing men and women being dragged off by a hunched figure swaddled in dusty robes. Power came from testing oneself against equals, not from dominating those too weak to have ever proved a challenge.

The figure met her gaze as she passed. He was wizened and sickly, human with a web of black veins crawling beneath his skin, his eyes rheumy with cataracts and corruption. Vilesha felt a surge of loathing deep in her gut. The man - she refused to think of such a creature as a Sith - represented everything she despised about the exiles, and her fingers instinctively twitched for the hilt of her lightsaber at the prospect of a challenge. For a moment they eyed one another, before the hunchback scoffed under his breath and passed on. Vilesha watched him go, her face locked in a haughty sneer. The notion that such a creature likely held high status in the Empire disgusted her.

It took another half-hour of searching before she found what she wanted. A mercenary ship in the Empire's employ had just touched down from a skirmish with Republic vessels scouting the borders of Sith territory. Boarding actions had occurred and prisoners taken, and the captain wished to sell them to fund the repairs he needed. Half a dozen ragged men and women stood on Korriban's dusty red earth, stripped to the waist and staring morosely at the vast, cyclopean statues that towered in the distance. A good omen, Vilesha thought. Those statues represented the thousands of slaves who had built the great tombs of the Valley of the Dark Lords.

"Captain!" she barked, striding up to the man in charge. He was short and squat, with thick stubble and an ugly metal prosthetic squashed into his left eye socket. "Most of the chattel on display here today displeases me. I hope you have more hearty specimens to offer."

"Aye, m'lady, hearty's the word. This scum left half my men dead and the rest swimming in bacta. Commandos, I reckon, though they ain't said anythin' worth shipping off to yer Intelligence boys."

"Then it is well you intercepted them when you did," Vilesha said, looking down the line of captives. "You've had no prior interest?"

Despite the captain's claim, two had been wounded by blaster fire and were clearly struggling to remain upright. She doubted they would last long without proper medical care. A third had been badly beaten, and from the glassy, hollow look in her eyes, she imagined the Captain and his men had vented their frustrations on her already. Vilesha felt only a little sympathy for the woman. Such risks went hand-in-hand with commando work, regardless of one's gender. Nurturing her back to health might earn her a particularly loyal servant, but Sith lacked the time, means, and temperament for such a thing.

"None. Yer the first one to come take a look-see," the Captain waved a hand at them. "Pick the ones y'want and I'll get 'em branded and collared."

Of the three that remained, she discounted the looming, white-furred Talz immediately. The creatures lacked the ability to speak Galactic Basic, and Vilesha had no intention of sullying her tongue with their strange, buzzing language or relaying her instructions through a translator droid. But the last two seemed to fit her needs. The first was a hulking, muscular human man who stared at her in undisguised loathing. Next to him stood a Twi'lek; also male, blue-skinned, his slender body and curling lekku wrapped in curling, vine-like tattoos.

Both seemed healthy if somewhat bedraggled, and they certainly had the physiques of military men. The human's expression only deepened as she inspected the pair, though the Twi'lek's carefully neutral facade flickered as he glanced towards her. Was that hope she had seen, Vilesha wondered? Or curiosity? It certainly wasn't fear.

"Those two." Vilesha gestured to them both. "Names?"

"Kale Tarask, Brakin Helkosh." The captain nodded first to the Twi'lek, then the human. "The Twi's a marksman, goin' by the size of the gun he had on 'im. His friend's just muscle."

Muscle indeed, Vilesha thought. The human was huge, his broad, barrel-like torso layered with old scars. She didn't believe in unwinnable fights - she was too proud, too stubborn for that - but if the man caught her unarmed, the Sith was under no illusion that putting him down would be easy. His small, dark eyes narrowed under her cold inspection, but he kept his silence.

"Raw force does have its place," she mused, turning her attention to the Twi'lek. He was rather attractive, she realised - at least compared to Brakin, who had a face as squat and brutal as his body. Vilesha paced around the man, frowning, then reached out to trace one of his curling tattoos with the back of her hand. The Twi'lek reminded her of someone. The blue skin, the chiseled good looks...small things, really, but enough to call forth memories she'd carefully buried. Her chest tightened, and one of her hands curled into a fist, nails digging painfully into her palm. There had been a man once, a Chiss. He was gone now. Not dead, but beyond her reach.

For now, Vilesha told herself, pursing her lips. Her feelings for him had been complex - nothing so eye-rollingly saccharine as love, but he had been one of the rare few people she considered an equal. In a galaxy where she regarded most other beings as masters, servants, or enemies, that had been a unique and powerful thing.

Vilesha blinked, quashing the memories and forcing herself to return to the present. She nodded curtly to the captain. "Yes, these two will suit my needs. There will be no need for branding or shock collars. Have them prepared and delivered to my quarters at noon, three days hence."

They haggled on price and negotiated details of how and when the slaves would be turned over, then concluded their business after paying from her family's accounts. Vilesha thought nothing of the four captives she left behind. Their fate, whatever it might be, was no longer her concern.

\---

Vilesha was far from the only member of her family to have lost their connection to the Force. The House of Sisk had been a great power in Korriban's antiquity, but its glory days were long since passed, and all too many of its remaining scions had lapsed into petty cruelty and hedonism to distract from their situation. Still, ghosts of the House's former status remained. Their estate, a slab-walled fortress carved from glossy black stone and defended with layers of Sith magic, was testament to that. Vilesha had claimed quarters there upon her return to Korriban, and that was where she met them, her armour exchanged for sleek robes of red and burgundy.

The two men had been dressed in closely-fitted grey uniforms styled similarly to those worn by low-ranking officers in the Imperial Army. A slave might lack freedom, Vilesha believed, but was still entitled to basic dignities, and she had no intention of having the two men dressed in filthy rags and cast-offs. The only outward signs of their servitude were the black chain-link patterns which ran around their cuffs and lapels, and the buzzing metal shock-collars clamped around their necks.

The Pureblood frowned at the sight. She hadn't asked for them to be collared. Regardless, she delivered her money to the droid escort and stepped back as it ushered the pair inside. Kale and Brakin glanced at one another as the door hissed closed, the heavy thud-click sound echoing through the room as they surveyed their new prison.

Despite her best intentions, Vilesha had not quite evaded the taste for opulence that her peers shared. Plates of red sandstone contrasted the hard, black rock that comprised the walls, which were decorated in turn with unsettling carvings and scriptures dating back to Korriban's days of antiquity. The center of the room was dominated by a long table with a flickering hololith at one end and a simple basalt throne at the other. Weapons of all kinds were displayed openly, from blasters and vibroswords to lightsabers and strange, ancient clubs and axes. A huge window dominated one wall, opening out onto a balcony which overlooked the Valley of the Dark Lords. The ancient tombs loomed there like silent monoliths, casting long shadows over all around.

Vilesha watched the two men carefully. They stood close together, the Twi'lek shifting awkwardly from foot to foot while his human companion stared blankly into the middle distance. Occasionally, one would begin reaching up to finger their collar, only to think better of it and let their hand fall slack once more.

She quickly grew sick of the uncomfortable silence and clapped her hands together sharply. "Oh do show some life, gentlemen. If you're going to be this timid I might as well throw you back into the trash I found you in."

Kale, the Twi'lek, spoke first. "To be fair, neither of us have been slaves before. Shouldn't you be giving us orders? Or shouting? Beating us, maybe?"

"I suppose you have a point," Vilesha snorted. "Very well. Let me be honest. You are here under sufferance. I have no particular need nor want for slaves, but there are certain expectations of a woman of my position. It would be considered improper to be seen performing menial tasks myself." Her voice was thick with scorn. "As such, it was necessary to bring you into my employ."

Again they glanced at each other, suddenly uncertain. Vilesha supposed they had prepared themselves for more of the cruelty and malice shown at the slave markets. In that, she was pleased to disappoint them.

"So long as you prove loyal, and carry out whatever tasks I set you with proper diligence, your service here need not be overly unpleasant" she continued. "It will largely be domestic work, I suppose. Cleaning, preparation of food, and so on. If you can be trusted, in time I may permit you to serve as bodyguards."

"The sort of thing a household labour droid could do," Brakin muttered sullenly under his breath.

"The sort of thing I would much rather do myself, because I am neither lazy nor crippled," Vilesha shot back. "But as I said. Expectations. Serve me well, and I will see you are rewarded. Better food and small stipend, certainly. I may even be able to arrange contact with your families."

Kale raised an eyebrow. "Pardon my skepticism, but that's a bit hard to believe. Most of the Sith we've crossed paths with treated their solders like dirt, so I can't imagine their slaves get it any easier. And now you're saying we were lucky enough to be purchased by the only Pureblood in the Empire who isn't a complete psychopath?"

Vilesha didn't reply. She strode across the room, shaking the sleeves of her robe away from her hands and grabbing the shock collar around Kale's neck. The Twi'lek cried out and flinched away, raising his hands in expectation of punishment. Vilesha pressed her thumb against a fingerprint reader, then pulled the device free and tossed it away with a faint noise of distaste.

"I do not consider myself a cruel woman, slave, but you will not slight my people's name like that again." She snapped, freeing Brakin from his collar in turn. "We are neither monsters nor barbarians, despite what your Republic has taught you to believe."

Neither man dared to contradict her. Vilesha was glad of that. Few Sith, Pureblood or otherwise, lived up to her lofty ideals.

"So if we're not going to be collared, what's to stop us from killing you?" Brakin rumbled. He pointed to the weapons hanging around the room. "There's plenty here that could do it, and you have to let your guard down some time. Even you need to sleep."

Vilesha shrugged. "Feel free to try. If I was weak or stupid enough to be killed by a slave, then I would be undeserving of my position here. Besides, if you did, where would you go? This is not one of your soft Republic worlds. Even if you evaded my peers, our guards, and escaped into the wilderness, what then? The K'lor slugs would be licking the meat from your bones within days."

She plucked a weapon off the wall. It was a strange thing, a long-handled halberd with a broad, bladed head that would have been far too large for most people to use, and tossed it to the big man. He caught it, handling the monstrous weapon with ease as he examined the unfamiliar shape. "But if you do wish to strike out at me, I encourage you to do so now, openly and with honour. This is a lanvorak, the ritual weapon of our ancient warrior castes. It should suit you well."

The human glared at her, his dark little eyes narrowed into slits. His posture shifted and Vilesha felt her muscles tense in anticipation of violence. Then the man grunted and relaxed, tossing the lanvorak back. "No," he said. "I'm good."

Vilesha eyed him a moment longer, then inclined her head a fraction. "Good," she said, returning the weapon to its proper place. "I'm glad we understand each other." 

"Well then," Kale cut in, giving her a grim smile. "Now that we're all friends, where do we start?"

\---

The two men were housed in a small room that adjoined Vilesha's own quarters. It was woefully plain compared to the Sith's living space, but warm, dry, and clean, with facilities for washing and preparing their own food. Compared to some of the barracks they had shared while fighting for the Republic, and the stinking brig they had been confined to after their capture, it was heaven. In the following days, they were taught their mistress' likes and dislikes, the manner in which she conducted her affairs, her daily schedule - everything needed to ensure meals were prepared, baths drawn, and household chores performed with a precision that would put the most stringent drill instructor to shame.

Once, she even demonstrated the lethal security systems that kept her more murderously-inclined peers at bay. Vilesha claimed it was so neither of them would trigger anything by mistake, but the unspoken message was perfectly clear. If I am showing you this, the racks of concealed blasters, flame projectors and gas-dispensers said, imagine what else lies in wait that I don't trust you enough to reveal.

Of course they considered escape. Neither man wished to spend their days cooking and cleaning, and the notion of rescuing their squad and escaping back to Republic space was a common fantasy in their first weeks of their service. It didn't last, though. Vilesha had not exaggerated Korriban's dangers. The halls of her estate were patrolled by hunter-killer droids, Sith warriors, and Imperial army troopers. Worse, the influence of the Dark Side had left the planet's native fauna every bit as vicious and predatory as those who ruled it. Even if they killed her and fled, the chances of actually getting off-world were almost nonexistent. With the Imperial Navy hanging in orbit, the odds of getting further were nil.

She was true to her word, though. Vilesha remained distant and aloof, controlling them with implicit threats and careful deprivation of their few comforts rather than with outright torture and violence. Brakin resentfully noted they were being conditioned to be dependent upon her, but there was little either man could do about the situation. Other than their mistress' occasional guests - grim-faced Sith and prim Imperial officers who paid them no attention - and the occasional conversation with the beaten wretches that made up the House of Sisk's wider staff of slaves, she was their only point of contact. They were kept busy, comfortable, and alone.

As the days went by, Vilesha began to grow used to the pair. Brakin remained nothing but a servant to her, albeit one she no longer felt the need to watch for signs of betrayal. He accepted his captivity with stoic resentment, and served adequately. But Kale, the Twi'lek, became something a little more. They shared an interest in history, and despite her cold and unfriendly demeanor, she often found herself enjoying long discussions about Korriban and the Sith's ancient society and the long-lost Empire it had forged under King Adas' rule.

His appreciation for her calligraphy also came as a pleasant surprise. At once stark and flowing, the Sith's runic alphabet appealed to Kale's artistic tastes, and he often used the small amount of credits she bestowed upon them to purchase ink and parchment to try himself. It was a dying language, and she occasionally toyed with the idea of tutoring him more extensively. She so rarely had the chance to converse in her native tongue.

Vilesha never considered the Twi'lek a friend, but she recognised herself growing a little fond of him. The Empire's cut-throat hierarchies left her with few peers she entirely trusted. Joy and companionship were secondary concerns next to the need to extend her power, both personal and political, as far as she could, and so her passing conversations with Kale were the closest thing she had to a social life.

That she found him pleasing to look at certainly didn't hurt. There was a subtle, wiry strength to the man, and the Sith sometimes found herself admiring the way his uniform pulled tightly across his hindquarters, or the artistry behind the tattoos that wound around his lekku. The idea of taking him to her bed crossed her mind on more than one occasion, but the reluctant fumblings of a compelled slave held little appeal. Vilesha respected boldness, strength - if the man ever worked up the gut to defy his station, well, perhaps she might consider the prospect more seriously. But for now, she thought, at least he made for an appealing decoration.

\---

"You're getting too close to her" Brakin grunted one night. He lay in his bunk, hands crossed over his chest, staring at the ceiling. "I've been watching the two of you and your cozy little chats. A polite Sith is still a Sith. Her people are butchers, remember."

Kale pursed his lips as he dropped his stylus back into its pot of ink. He and Brakin had never gotten on terribly well, but he was growing ever more insufferable the longer they were cooped up together.

"Maybe, but we're still stuck here," he said. "Even if the war does turn hot again, it's going to take a long time for the Imps to be pushed back to their home systems. Until then, there's no chance of us being rescued, so I'm not going to aggravate the woman just for the sake of your pride." If the Republic ever manages it, he added silently. "Unless you want to go back to eating recycled protein and working eighteen hours a day?"

"Might be that's better than forgetting how we got here. We aren't free men any more."

"Were we before? I don't remember us having a lot of free time back in the army. Look, I'm not saying we, or you, have to like her. Just..." Kale sighed. "Appease her. Keep her happy."

"Like I said. You're getting too close. She's not your friend, boy, she's your owner. The best you're ever going to be to her is a pet."

The Twi'lek rolled his eyes. He knew how the conversation was going to go. Brakin was a career soldier. His ancestors had fought the Sith during the Great Hyperspace War, and when Naga Sadow died and the Empire of its time crumbled, they had pushed the remaining Sith off Korriban and into exile. It had seemed like a deliberate act of spite when the Sith returned centuries later and razed his homeworld. Kale supposed it was natural to hold a grudge, but it didn't make being cooped up with the man any easier.

"No, I don't think so. I don't think she's that bad." He picked the stylus back up, spinning it in his fingers as he thought. "You remember that Pureblood we were tracking back in the Beta Hydralis cluster? He never stopped smiling, even when he was up to his ankles in bodies. He loved what he was doing. But her? She never smiles. I don't think she enjoys all this."

"You're rationalising."

"And you're paranoid."

Kale heard Brakin stir across the room from him. "I suppose it's not your fault," the human rumbled. "You only ever joined the army to get off Ryloth. You never believed in the cause, and now you've got an excuse not fight any more. Besides, getting enslaved is almost a career choice for Twi'leks, right? How often do you see a stripper who doesn't have lekku these days?"

An uncomfortable silence descended. Kale could feel a wall growing between them. Before, necessity had forced them to work smoothly together. Their squad had needed to be efficient, everyone needed to know they could rely upon one another no matter what. But all their little disagreements and prejudices were starting to creep into the open now.

He had been an artist, before. Every piece of twisting ink on his body had been imagined, designed, and perfected on paper long before the first needle bit into his skin. Brakin was right - war had been a chance to get off the blistering, poverty-ridden backwater of his homeworld, nothing more. While it had become a talent, it had never become a passion.

He glanced down at the stylus between his fingers, and the half-formed line of barbed characters taking shape on the parchment. Sometimes, Kale thought, he had seen cracks in Vilesha's stern demeanor. She often spoke of her frustrations with the Empire's sadistic politics when they were alone, and there had been a flash of delight in her eyes when he asked about her writings. Now and then he had noticed her watching him, her expression curious, thoughtful. As much as he hated to prove Brakin right, he did wonder if something was growing between them.

\---

Everything hurt. Vilesha bore her discomfort stoically as she marched back through the Sisk estate's claustrophobic halls. Her training regimes were brutal. Practice sabers and training blades left burns and numb welts wherever they struck, which was to say nothing of the extremes of heat, cold, and other tortures she subjected herself to. She had determined to make a friend of pain, to inure herself to suffering so as to break any hold it might have over her. One day, she thought, she would be able to endure any wound or agony without breaking, and she would be one step closer to perfection.

But for now it was just pain, and it left her feeling tired and weak. Kale greeted her with a respectful bow as she returned to her quarters, and she had to fight not to let her shoulders sag in relief at the sound of the bath filling with water. A small pleasure before she turned to the evening's missives and communiques. There was something else as well, she realised - a warm, spicy scent that lingered in the air.

"Vrashleaf incense," Kale offered, seeing her expression. "I took the liberty of ordering some with my last stipend. It's quite common on Ryloth, my sister told me it helps her relax. I thought it might do the same for you."

Vilesha felt a twinge of gratitude and fought not to let it reach her face. The Twi'lek had learned not just to anticipate her instructions, but to actively seek out ways of pleasing her. At first she had thought it a trick, or an attempt to bribe her for favours, but as the weeks had rolled past her guard had slowly dropped. He genuinely seemed to have taken his new role in stride.

"I see," Vilesha said. She could imagine the rich scent mixing with the fumes from her bath, and her cramped muscles ached in anticipation. "Of course. A fine idea. Where is the other one?"

"Brakin? He's performing service checks down in the droid pool. Scheduled to return in just under two hours, I believe."

Vilesha nodded and brushed past him. "Good. Prepare a bottle of wine and bring it to me in fifteen minutes." Then she paused, glancing back over her shoulder. "And bring a second glass. Your services have been exemplary of late, and I feel you have earned a reward. We will share a drink."

He nodded and departed. Vilesha entered the bathroom and undressed, slipping into the hot water with a low, throaty sigh of relief. She was not an especially tall woman and certainly lacked in brute muscle, but her body was toned and athletic, with a proud swell to her bust and curve to her hip that seemed at odds with her harsh nature. A perfectly circular scar, left by a vicious lightsaber stab from the man who had killed her mother, marred her left shoulder. Like her face, Vilesha's body bore its own share of piercings. A gold bar ran through each nipple, bright against the deep red of her skin. They were a small vanity with no ritual importance, but one which pleased her sense of the aesthetic.

Vilesha let her eyes close and slid down until the water reached her chin. Her head fell back and rested gently against the lip of the tub. Curls of sweet smoke drifted through the air, filling her lungs with a soft, pleasing glow as the steaming water leeched the ache from her muscles. The Pureblood let out a long, indulgent sigh, welcoming the comfortable softening of her perceptions. She was no hedonist, but at that moment, she felt she understood her degenerate, pleasure-seeking family a little better.

Kale knocked at the door, and she bade him to enter. Along with her sleeping chamber, it was one of the two rooms barred to her slaves for reasons of privacy. It was a small room, dominated by the large bath the Sith now wallowed in, itself carved from the same glossy black stone as the rest of the fortress. Silver taps and hoses snaked here and there, shining in the steam.

The Twi'lek approached and placed a tray carrying a bottle and two fluted glasses at the head of the bath. Vilesha opened one eye, watching with some amusement as he stared determinedly off into the middle distance. "Look at me, you fool. The lather is thick enough that I am quite decent. Unless you possess some manner of sorcery which can peer through it?"

He coughed and turned to her, meeting her amused gaze for a second before snapping the top off the wine. "Ah, no, ma'am. No cybernetics either, I mean."

"That was a joke, Kale. I have been known to make them on occasion. You do not find me displeasing to look at, I hope?" The corner of Vilesha's mouth twitched upwards as she watched the Twi'lek turn an odd, deeper shade of blue. He was blushing, she realised. It was rather fetching.

He glanced at her again, playing with the neck of the bottle as he filled the glasses. "Not at all, ma'am. You're rather striking, in fact. But if it isn't too much to ask, are you having fun at my expense?"

"That I am. It has been a stressful and unpleasant day. I shall take my amusements where I can, petty as they may be."

"Well, that is what I'm here for." The Twi'lek relaxed a fraction. "If it isn't impertinent for me to say, it seems like most of your days are stressful and unpleasant."

Vilesha sipped her drink. Korriban's wine was an acquired taste for non-natives; sharp on the tongue, with a bitter aftertaste. Her servant blinked in surprise as he tried it, but continued to drink. Whether he approved or simply did it to please her, she couldn't say. Eventually she shrugged, one of her red shoulders breaking the thick layer of white foam.

"They are, but for good reason. Nothing worthwhile comes easily, Kale. Remember that. Struggle, pain, and strife make us strong. The peace and tranquility your Jedi and their Republic strive for has doomed them. First to stagnation, and soon to death." 

"I suppose." He replied. "I've learned enough of your language to read the inscriptions on the walls. It seems like a lonely philosophy."

The small half-smile dropped from Vilesha's face. She swallowed half her drink in one gulp. "It is. The Jedi are barred from forming attachments, while we are not. Yet every attachment represents a weakness, something which can be turned against us. So most of us choose to remain alone, despite claiming our freedom to love demonstrates the superiority of our code. Ironic, no?"

Kale nodded. His face was carefully neutral. "And what about you? No attachments? You've never been in love?"

"Love?" Vilesha snorted. "No. Or..." she hesitated then. "I don't know. There have been men I cared for more than others, certainly. But love requires something which I perhaps lack. My mother certainly possessed it, but - "

Vilesha stopped suddenly. She had dropped her guard rather more than she had expected. Realising her discomfort, Kale hurried to fill the dead air.

"How about friends?"

"Of course. I spent time as the captain of a small smuggling crew. Most of them were fools, but yes, they were friends. Before that I flew with a mercenary crew, and with pirates before that. And before even those, I spent time as an indentured servant to the Hutts. One must develop friendships in such environments; they are a means of survival as much as anything else."

She played idly with the stem of her glass, watching the dark liquid swirl within. "And what of you?" Vilesha added, her lips twisting into a lopsided smirk. "Friends, family? No lonely partners I've stolen you away from?"

The Twi'lek shook his head. His lekku seemed to writhe and curl like serpents in the steam. "Parents, one sister. They're still on Ryloth. I left most of my friends behind when I joined the army." He glanced away, then shook himself and refilled their glasses. "There were a few girls, but nothing that lasted. Military life, you know. You keep moving around."

He sighed, lost in his own memories. "They always liked my paintings, though. And my hands."

"Hmm?" Vilesha raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, my hands. Massage. It drew a few compliments." Kale started to speak again and hesitated, his mouth half-open. Vilesha watched him carefully, one eyebrow raised, gesturing for him to continue. There was a tension between them now, she thought. Perhaps it was the wine and the incense addling their minds, or the effect of her nakedness, even veiled behind steam and foam, firing their imaginations. She shifted in the water, her legs parting and then crossing once more. The day's aches and pains were swiftly being replaced with a glowing warmth, one that pooled in her belly in the most delightful fashion. It made her restless. Hungry.

"If it pleases you, mistress, and if you don't consider it inappropriate, I could demonstrate. I am at your disposal, after all." The Twi'lek coughed the words out. Vilesha fancied she could see beads of nervous sweat gathering on his brow.

"Are you now? That's a very bold proposition." Vilesha purred. There was a dangerous look in her eye, as playful as it was cruel, like a feline toying with its prey. "Many Sith would have a slave who presumed to suggest such a thing whipped, but I did always approve of bold men. Even ones from lowly positions. And you think yourself worthy of touching me?"

She raised one of her legs, stretching it out before him and flexing her toes. Her yellow eyes glittered in amusement as the Twi'lek followed the beads of froth that trickled down its length, running over her muscular thighs and melting back into the water. His uniform really was marvelously tight, Vilesha thought. She'd always found the military look attractive in a man. It suggested authority, confidence, the ability to command...and willingness to submit. That an impressive bulge had begun to distort the crisp lines of his trousers only added to the appeal. She stirred again, her skin prickling at the thought.

"And what if I asked for more, hmm? If I wanted something other than a...massage." She craned her leg over, brushing her toes along the inside of his thigh. Kale swallowed but, again, remained as he was. His gaze was strong, confident but respectful.

"Then it would be my utmost pleasure to serve you, in whatever manner you desire." 

Vilesha's smile widened. "That was the correct answer," she said softly. "Go to my chambers. Make yourself comfortable. I will be along shortly."

Kale nodded and left with what Vilesha thought to be a remarkable amount of self-control, leaving her temporarily alone with her thoughts. She was not, by nature, a particularly libidinous woman. Her passions ran in more militant directions, and the necessities of life as a Forceless child had left little room for the hedonism that consumed her peers.

How long had it been, she wondered? Six, seven months since she had enjoyed the pleasures of a man? Longer? Her physical urges hadn't been totally dead, but she had always been so busy, or the men who might have lived up to her standards inevitably proved deficient in some way. Whenever the itch truly became too much to bear, her fingers had sufficed. But Kale...he was attractive, he stimulated her mentally. He knew his place, but had shown enough courage to make a move first, instead of meekly waiting and hoping her desires would lead her to claim him. Vilesha knew she could have made it harder for the man by drawing the game out over weeks or months, testing to see if his interest would wane. But perhaps the wine had lowered her inhibitions just enough to cloud her judgement. Perhaps she wanted to wallow in the power she had over the man, taking and using the once-proud Republic soldier for her pleasure. Or perhaps, after so long in the vicious viper's nest of Sith politics, she needed to make some sort of connection with another living person. Even a mere slave.

In the end, Vilesha decided she didn't care. Her mind made up, she rose from the bath and toweled the water from her hair, then dressed in a silken black bathrobe that clung to her wet body like a second skin. She found Kale sitting on the end of her bed, stripped to the waist, the upper half of his uniform neatly folded and placed to one side. He was as lithe and muscular as the day she first saw him at the slave-market, the curling tattoos that decorated his smooth blue skin seeming to ripple in the dim half-light of her chamber. Loops and whorls curled along his lekku, circling his chest and spiraling down his rigid abdomen to vanish teasingly below his belt. She felt a deep twinge of arousal pass through her at the sight, her mind idly conjoining images of just how far they went.

"My, my. Those are rather extensive." She swept across the room, her robe swirling around her. Vilesha's chamber was decorated much in the same way as the rest of her quarters, but the scattering of personal items decorating its shelves betrayed a little of her history. Holo-picts flickered on the wall; as a child with her mother, as a young woman among a gang of pirates, and a year before with her smuggling crew. Her armour sat on a rack in one corner, while a piece of red sandstone taken from Korriban's tombs sat on a plinth on the far wall. Two other stands, empty, each large enough to take a human skull, sat next to it. Vilesha avoided looking at those. One day they would display the skulls of the men she held responsible for her mother's death, but she pushed the thought aside.

She took the man's chin, standing before him with her back straight and legs apart, and lifted his head up to look at her. "I do look forwards to exploring them in full."

Kale's uncertainty was gone now. He drank in her potency, her arrogance, with naked delight. "You need only ask, mistress, and I will bare them for you."

His hands went to her hips, his fingers squeezing her backside through the delicate silk. There was no hint of deception in his voice. Any thug, any barbarian, can force a man to submit, Vilesha thought. But this - this was true power. Not to bully and beat a man into surrendering, but for him to offer himself willingly. To fasten the collar around his own neck and pass you the lead. She shuddered with joy, the rush of her dominance over the Twi'lek more potent than any aphrodisiac the galaxy could offer, her body aching in a way she had almost forgotten. The heat in her belly had spread, filling her with a need to touch, to be touched. She loosened the sash holding her robe together and let the two halves open with a soft sigh of silk against skin, revealing a long slice of crimson skin that ran from the bony ridges of her breastbone down to the faint glimmer of wetness between her legs.

Kale leaned in close, pressing his soft, narrow lips to her naked belly, kissing her damp skin. His tongue probed and twirled, drawing circles around her bellybutton. Strong hands slid under her robe, stroking her thighs and drawing her close, his nails stinging gently as they bit into her skin. Vilesha tipped her head back and let out a soft hiss of pleasure, indulging him in his worship.

"On your knees, slave," Vilesha's voice was a hoarse whisper, deep and throaty with need. "I have a better use for that tongue of yours."

Kale slid obediently off the bed. His eyes shone with desire as she raised her leg and placed her foot upon the spot he had been sitting, arrogantly baring her sex for his attention. Her lips were the deepest red and already shone with her arousal, beads of liquid mixing with the drops of water that still clung to her thighs. She radiated power. There was no hint of self-consciousness or embarrassment, no hesitation about parting her legs for another's eye. Whatever the Sith might have lacked in conventional beauty was more than compensated for by her utter, domineering confidence.

Vilesha groaned in frustration as Kale's tongue lapped along the inside of her thighs, working his way up each shining bead of wetness but never quite dipping into its source. The warmth of his breath tickled across her aching, sensitive flesh, stoking the heat in her belly until she thought she might explode from need alone. Her back arched, the robe falling away from her breasts as she tugged the Twi'lek's head deeper into the cleft of her legs, eager to feel that hot, darting point on her lips. The groan became a growl, something low and feral with hunger.

"Enough dawdling, idiot. I am quite ready now."

Kale mumbled something in return. Whatever it was, Vilesha felt his tongue glide up, up, and she almost screamed as it danced in a lazy circle around her burning sex. And then, just as she was on the verge of strangling the man for his endless teasing, he craned his neck upwards and planted an open-mouthed kiss against her lips.

It was a revelation. Vilesha felt her body clench up as a crescendo of ecstasy washed through her, her legs growing weak and trembling as the Twi'lek dug his fingers into her hindquarters to hold her steady. His lips on hers, heat against heat, easing her open as his tongue slipped into her waiting passage. Vilesha's eyes bulged in shock, unable to speak more than a thin whimper. She had as good as presented her sex to him on a silver platter, and now he devoured it as if it were some plump, succulent fruit. He lapped and sucked greedily, his tongue twisting and delving into her silken folds. He worked up and down, every motion crippling her with another savage contortion of pleasure.

Too long, she thought, too long. The Twi'lek was skilled despite his modesty, and she dearly wished she had sat down before bidding him to begin. It was a fight to stay standing, to maintain her composure, and it was a fight she was slowly losing. But for all that, she ground herself into Kale's mouth, desperate for his questing tongue to creep deeper, to lavish her velvet walls with its caresses. The waves of soaring, tingling sensation made her lonely nights of masturbation look miserable by comparison, like a sputtering candle beside a bonfire. Vilesha's climax came with a sudden lurch amidst that storm of feeling, a muscular spasm as his lips brushed her stiff bud that bent her double and drew another choked, drawn-out whimper from her mouth.

In the back of Vilesha's mind, part of her wondered if he was testing her, or taking some tiny measure of revenge for his captivity by trying to rob her of her composure. She ground her teeth together, eyes narrowing as she forced her rebellious body back into order, riding the wave of her orgasm as Kale's attentions began to slow. Her rasping breaths steadied and she felt herself relax, a warm, buzzing afterglow flowing through her as her slave gently lapped at her sodden folds. The trembles had not entirely faded though, and whenever he bumped her bud - accidentally or otherwise - she was rocked by stab of sensation so acute it was almost painful. With a final, throaty sigh, Vilesha grasped one of Kale's twisting lekku and pushed him away, stepping backwards as he fell onto his behind.

"Was that - did I do something wrong?" He almost sounded wounded. Vilesha snorted out a laugh and shook her head.

"Not at all. It was merely a little more than I expected. I have been without a partner for some time."

She shrugged one of her shoulders. She owed him neither apology nor explanation, of course, but her mind still spun from her climax. Vilesha's robe still clung to her, but it covered nothing, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her hair, half-dried, had clumped together into a mess of snakelike tendrils, and her body glistened with sweat. Chauvin was in little better a state. His mouth was damp with her arousal, and he too was drenched from his exertions. The bulge in his trousers now looked truly agonising. Vilesha smirked. Perhaps, she thought, his aggression had simply been desperation to have his own needs sated. She toyed briefly with the idea of sending him to his quarters for the night as a lesson, but discarded it. Her own hungers, despite Kale's laudable attentions, still twisted and gnawed in her belly, crying out to be sated.

"Remove those," she waved a hand dismissively at the remains of his uniform. "And get on the bed. After a performance like that, it would be entirely remiss of me not to return the favour."

Vilesha leaned back and watched as he unbuckled his belt and undressed, drinking in the sight of his sculpted, athletic body. He was a vision of tight, controlled power - tall and rangy, beads of sweat tracing paths around his slender muscles, weaving in and out of the spiraling tattoos that dragged her eyes over his blue skin. Even his lekku, those strange, danging appendages running from the back of his skull, seemed to accentuate the serpentine flow of his body. Vilesha realised she was chewing her lip. The Twi'lek caught her expression for a moment as he mounted the bed and grinned.

"I take it you approve?" He spread his arms along the headboard, baring himself to her with what almost seemed like unseemly pride.

Vilesha cleared her throat. "You'll do," she said, tossing her own garment away and sliding onto the foot of the bed. Kale's tattoos were indeed extensive - they curled downwards, twisting and over-lapping as they reached his groin, and finally knotted together into a dark thatch where a human might have had their pubic hair. His cock rose magnificently from it; tall, proud, its colour deepening to a rich navy blue at the head, and so hard it must have ached. She prowled up the bed, slinking on her hands and knees like a cat, pinning the Twi'lek in place with her gaze. She could feel the heat from his skin, radiating like a furnace. The head of his cock brushed against her belly, and she shuddered in anticipation. Their noses were almost close enough to touch. Their lips brushed. Vilesha pulled back at the last moment, her smile crooked.

"Tell me who owns you, slave." She whispered. Her hand found his cock, slender fingers wrapping around his shaft, feeling it shudder and twitch in her palm.

"You do, mistress." Kale's eyes were wide, shining with lust. He pushed towards her, only to find himself thrust back into the sheets with the Sith's other hand on his chest.

"Not good enough." Vilesha followed him down, their bodies inches apart. "You never swore yourself to me, Kale. When you arrived here. I was too busy, too...distracted to wring any kind of oath of loyalty from the pair of you. I'll take yours now. Give yourself to me."

The last words were breathed across his ear. She lapped sweat from his cheek, dug her nails into his chest, tugged insistently at his aching length. Kale's head fell back and he groaned, long and urgent. "I am yours then, Vilesha of House Sisk. To do with as you please, now and forever."

There was no doubt in his voice, no trace of duplicity or hesitation. He strained against her like a piece of elastic pulled too tight. Vilesha gave him a vicious, feral grin, the familiar thrill of victory coursing through her veins. "Mine," she hissed. "Mine, mine, mine."

She lunged forwards, clutching his lekku and dragging his head backwards, kissing him savagely. She ground her mouth onto his and plunged her tongue down his throat like an animal marking her territory. For all her poise, the self-control, the air of stern authority she cultivated, Vilesha was still Sith. True Sith, Pureblood, not the hollow things that had enslaved them. Her people were aggressive, hot-blooded, passionate. "I will take from you," she said. "And take, and take, until I am done. But I am nothing if not magnanimous. I give you this."

Vilesha kissed her way down the bewildered Twi'lek's body, tracing one of the curling tattoos with her tongue. His muscles tensed and flexed under her touch, almost vibrating with pent-up energy. She nipped at his skin as she went, tasting salt, tasting blood, working her way towards the root they emerged from. And then there he was, rising up towards her face, mottled blue foreskin pulling away from the deep, shiny head. They locked eyes for a moment, across the length of his trim body, before Vilesha parted her lips and took Kale's cock into her mouth.

It was not, in truth, a wholly selfless action. Her lips were still sensitive from the Twi'lek's own ministrations, and she had to resist the urge to jerk uncomfortably whenever something brushed against them. She needed time yet, at least a little time, to prepare herself before finally scratching the itch that gnawed insistently away within her.

Neither was she an expert at this sort of thing, too used to taking pleasure than giving it out. She bobbed her head uncertainly, trying to find a comfortable pace, while her tongue probed and lapped its way curiously around Kale's length. It was searingly, achingly hot between her lips, trembling within its prison and slowly filling her mouth with the rich taste of his precome. He gasped and whined, writhing atop the sheets and occasionally bucking upwards whenever she found a particularly sensitive spot. It made for a beautiful sight, Vilesha thought. Taut muscles flexing, lekku shuddering, the Twi'lek's body danced to her rhythm.

His scent filled her nostrils as she steadily worked her way down his shaft, fainter and sweeter than she remembered her old human partners being, but rich enough to drown out the faint tang of incense that still hung in the air. She stroked his thighs and cupped his balls, rolling them gently in her palm as she traced the veins on his cock with the tip of her tongue. He seemed to like that. Slowly her movements became more practiced, more natural, and she focused her attentions on the places that drew the greatest shudders from her helpless slave.

It came as a surprise when Vilesha realised how much she was enjoying herself. There was something perversely satisfying about seeing a man - a former soldier, an enemy by all accounts - rendered so helpless before her, as much a helpless slave to his passions as the Jedi accused her people of being. She could bestow this upon him whenever she wished, not to sate his desires, but to lavish in the sight of a broken enemy. Her tongue was a whip, and though it bestowed pleasure instead of pain, it left Kale equally broken.

His hands knotted the sheets. Vilesha could feel the Twi'lek's need to come vibrating through her. She pulled the cock from between her lips and wrapped her fingers around the slick organ, feeling its raging heat.

"I sense you're close, slave. " She purred. "Do you seek release?"

Kale nodded drunkenly.

Vilesha gently pinched the bottom of his shaft, aiming it away from her face and lapping idly at the underside of his head. "Will you be in a fit state to continue afterwards?"

"Lady, after this, I'll go all night if you want." He gasped.

She laughed at that, the sound short but genuine, caught off-guard by the flippancy of his remark. Good, she thought. He would be a dull thing without that spirit. "Consider your words carefully, Kale. I may hold you to them."

Vilesha leaned forwards, letting his cock slide between her breasts, leaving a glistening trail of precome and saliva glistening in its wake. Once, twice, three times she repeated the motion, before the Twi'lek let out a final thin cry and came. She felt the first splash against her bust, searingly hot against the sensitive mounds, and laughed again as she pushed his cock away from her. Rope after rope of thick, pearly seed spurted forth, splattering over the Twi'lek's heaving chest and slowly trickling over the sleek, ridged muscles of his belly.

"Tut, tut. Quite the mess you've made." She took the Twi'lek's hand and gently pulled him forwards, until they sat facing one another. One red, one blue, one hard and angular, the other graceful and serpentine, both gleaming with their desire. Vilesha's finger brushed Kale's cock, still hard despite his climax. "And it seems you're as good as your word. But first,"

She leaned backwards, bearing the swell of her breasts for his attention. "Clean me. With your tongue, if you please."

He made a face, and for a moment Vilesha thought he would try and refuse, but Kale bowed his head to obey. With two quick movements he lapped up the trail of seed he had left clinging to her breasts, then moved to her nipples, gently biting and teasing each of the sensitive buds in turn. His teeth clicked against her piercings, sending little shocks through the metal barbels that were neither quite pain nor pleasure, but deliciously welcome in either case. His hands tickled along her ribs and cupped the side of her bust, gently lifting and kneading each in turn, the strength of his hands a wonderful, soothing counterpart to the sharp, needling bursts of sensation he drew forth with his mouth.

Vilesha felt herself clench, a sudden, horrid feeling of emptiness washing through her. She needed to feel something - him - inside her, to salve that gnawing ache. "Adas' ghost, you are something," she muttered through clenched teeth. Kale broke away, grinning despite himself.

"You're certainly a far more accommodating mistress than the Jedi Brakin and I used to work under. Harsher, maybe, but the rewards for service?" He swept a hand towards her. "Impeccable."

"I'm glad I could be of so much use to you." Vilesha snorted dryly. "Do try and remember which of us is in charge here."

He coughed, glancing away. "Apologies, mistress. How would you like me? On my back again?"

Vilesha took a breath, idling over the possibilities. The idea had merit - it would certainly give her another unenviable view of Kale's body - but she felt the need for something else, something more visceral. Her blood was up, a rich cocktail of power, passion and sexual need swirling through her veins. She pushed the Twi'lek out of the way and slid forwards, falling onto all fours and raising her hindquarters towards his astonished face.

"Like this, I think. And do try to get it in the right place, hmm?"

There was a shuffling behind her as Kale got to his knees. Vilesha jumped as she felt his hands upon her backside, pulling the cheeks apart as he drew himself up close to her.

"If I may be so bold, mistress, can I just say you have an absolutely fantastic ar-"

"Yes, yes, very good." Vilesha coughed, somewhat glad the slave couldn't see the slight flush that came to her face. She wasn't used to being complimented. "Perhaps one day, if you do something truly remarkable, I will permit you to become more intimately acquainted with it. For now, if you would?"

She let out a short breath as Kale's head brushed over her entrance, drawing a crackle of pleasure from her sex as the slave rubbed himself over her entrance. Her sex was soaked with need, the weight of her lust clawing at her like a physical thing, and the Twi'lek's cock slipped into her with ease. Vilesha moaned and bit her lip, stretching languidly like a cat as he filled her, her body singing as it clenched around that wonderful hardness. He leaned forwards as he went, lowering himself until he lay atop her back, his lekku draped over her shoulder and his head next to hers. She grinned, the expression feral, half-hidden behind a veil of hair and the barbs that flanked her chin.

When she was younger, Vilesha had always felt a little guilty about enjoying sex from behind. She felt obliged to be the one on top, as if her partner might think of her as lesser or submissive if she was otherwise. The hierarchical nature of Sith culture invaded her few moments of intimacy even when she was half a galaxy away from her peers. That it felt good - that it allowed for a beautifully deep penetration, that the animalistic nature of it appealed to her more base, ferocious urges - had to be put aside.

But Kale was a slave. She owned him. She could order him to take her in whatever manner she pleased with no guilt, no discomfort, no need worry about how her reputation might rise or fall. It was liberating. She clenched her thighs together, wrapping her slick, hot walls around the steely prick inside her, and gloried in the warm haze of bliss that flowed out from them.

"Kale," she hissed. "I don't want you to be gentle. I don't want you to think we're 'making love'." She pronounced the words with scorn. "Show me some spirit, slave. Some aggression. Fuck me."

Vilesha savoured the thrill of those last two crude words. She rolled them around her mouth, drawing them out, turning the act of speaking them into an act of vulgar pleasure. It was rare for her to curse out loud, but this occasion, Vilesha thought, rather deserved it.

His hands covered hers, almost pinning her down, and he began to thrust. Steady, rhythmic, Vilesha gasped her approval as he moved and ground inside her. His cock throbbed as it plunged into her silken depths, his heartbeat racing in time with hers as they coupled atop the bed. But the pleasure of that initial penetration faded quickly. She tried to move with him, rocking her hips backwards as he thrust, craving him deeper, harder. Craving more. But he was slow while she was fast, their movements jarring against each other. She felt as if she was grasping at something just out of reach, something she was helpless to claim on her own. Kale could feel it too. He glanced at her out the corner of his eye, something almost like frustration on his lean, handsome face.

"Harder, damn it." Vilesha rasped. She groaned and squirmed, clawing at the plateau of release that danced just out of her grasp. "Give me what I want, not what you think I want. I've stolen your freedom, taken you from your family, turned you into my - my toy, my possession. Fuck me like you hate me."

The words were breathy and strangled, but something flashed in the Twi'lek's eyes. He reared up, grabbed a fistful of his mistress' hair, and wrenched it backwards. Vilesha let out a short scream as pain shot through her scalp, but it was cut short as Kale drove the air from her lungs with a monumental thrust that drove him to his root and left a fleshy clap ringing in the air. The Pureblood's mind span, a deluge of confused signals screaming through her body. Pleasure, pain, a crazed mix of the two. It was exactly what she wanted.

"Yes!" She cried out in joy, reaching up, grabbing one of the slave's lekku and tugging it sharply, pulling him back down towards her. He let out his own bleat of pain and twisted the handful of her hair again. "Yes, exactly like that!"

His thrusts were faster now, harder, each one accompanied by a loud, fleshy slap as his belly struck Vilesha's raised hindquarters. She bared her teeth, snarling her passion as Kale wrenched her hair back and drove himself into her again and again. Finally the gnawing, insistent ache that had been gnawing in her gut ever since the Twi'lek laid his hands upon her began to quieten. Soon she barely noticed the pain in her scalp; it flowed through her, melting into the roiling tide of ecstasy that flowed through her veins.

Sweat flicked from their bodies as they bucked madly against one another. The bed sheets became a twisted mess as fingers and toes clenched and grasped for purchase. Kale throbbed madly inside her, his cock as hard as durasteel, while her walls quivered and shook in response. Vilesha's head spun, stars exploding behind her eyes. She could feel another climax coming, different from her first; something hard and vicious, something so acute as to be almost painful. She reared up, almost vertical, throwing her hands back over her head and grabbing both her slave's lekku, hauling upon them like the reins of an animal. She dragged Kale's head within reach and kissed him again, driving her tongue down his throat just as he drove his cock into her sex.

And then it came, her body twisting, knotting, her thighs clenching madly around him as he shuddered and spurted inside her. Her climax was like a punch to the gut, an explosion of light and feeling that for a few blissful moments obliterated rational thought. It swept her away, crushed her, flowing from one end of her aching body to the other, crackling and dancing like lightning through her nerves.

She came down slowly, bit by bit, the tide of feeling receding as she and her slave melted onto the bed together. For a time they lay in silence, contemplating what had happened or simply basking in the afterglow. For Vilesha's part, a deep sense of embarassment quickly set in. She placed so much stock in restraint, in control, in presenting the appearance of a haughty and respectable Sith noble that to give into such wanton behavior felt like a failure. As if she was no better than her degenerate family. She shifted slightly, easing herself away from Kale's embrace.

"Well. Talk about passion making you strong, or whatever that funny code of yours says." Kale said, rolling onto his side and smiling warmly at his mistress. He massaged his lekku and winced. "Any harder and you'd have left hand-prints. You know these things have part of my brain in them, right? I don't want to seem disrespectful, but I won't be much use if you rip them out my head."

"Duly noted." Vilesha picked herself up and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She found it difficult to look at the Twi'lek. Part of her wanted him gone.

An awkward silence descended. Kale pulled back and sat up, suddenly concerned. "My lady? Is - did I perform poorly?"

"No, it's - " Vilesha grimaced and shook her head, struggling to find the right words. Her thoughts had been thrown out of order and refused to fall neatly back into place. "You were entirely satisfactory. What pains me is that I allowed it to happen in the first place. I wish to lead my family into something better, yet find myself coupling like a beast in heat. It is inappropriate. Beneath me."

The Twi'lek's face fell. "Do you want me to leave?"

"Yes. No!" Vilesha snapped. She pulled her legs close to her chest. "I don't know. Intimacy suits me poorly, even in such a tawdry thing as this." 

"Then it doesn't have to be intimate. I'm yours, remember?" Kale looked at her, his eyes wide, as if only just now understanding the oath he had given her. "To do with as you wish, now and forever. And if it pleases you to let me speak freely, I think you need a - maybe not a friend, but a confident. Someone outside your hierarchy who can help you relax."

"And you're offering yourself, are you?" Vilesha scoffed. "You do seem very eager to please. If I were a more paranoid woman I'd think you a spy trying to worm into my good graces."

The Twi'lek shrugged. "I've don't have any real stake in this war. It's never been personal for me. Republic, Empire, whatever. And you seem like a good woman, Vilesha. Better than most Sith, at least. If I'm going to be here for the foreseeable future, I'd much prefer us to be on agreeable terms. The happier you are, the more likely I am to be happy as well, or at least that's how I see it."

Vilesha gave Kale a long, hard, skeptical look, searching for anything to suggest he might be lying. Finally she relented, giving him a slight nod and a small, lopsided smile.

"Very well. You shall be my confidant, my...majordomo, tending to whatever needs I may have." She smirked. "Go back to your quarters and clean up. I doubt Brakin will think too fondly of this arrangement of ours. The rest of the day is yours to do with as you see fit."

Kale bowed and stood, still massaging his lekku. Vilesha flopped forwards, admiring his backside as he turned to leave, her legs kicking idly in the air.

"Oh, one more thing." She called. The Twi'lek turned, and she gestured idly to his tattoos. "I should make my own mark on you, one of these days. My own little stamp of ownership."

Kale gulped audibly. "As you will, mistress," he said, and vanished from the room.

\---

Three days later, Brakin attempted an escape. Loading a jury-rigged groundspeeder up with food and supplies he had amassed from his stipend, he took off into Korriban's dusty wastes, heading for a small ancillary spaceport in the hopes of smuggling himself off-world.

Vilesha ran him to ground just under ten miles from his destination. Brakin had a head start and - though she would never admit it - was a superior pilot, but the map he had sliced from the Sisk estate's droids was incomplete and out of date. A glancing shot from Vilesha's speeder cored out his left engine, leaving the ex-Commando stranded within walking distance of his salvation. When the Sith's vehicle touched down, she found the man bloodied but resolute, waiting for her with the lanvorak she had once offered him held stubbornly in his hands.

The battle was short and one-sided. Brakin was larger and stronger, but injured from the crash and unfamiliar with the heavy Sith polearm he wielded. Vilesha sidestepped his first blow and took his hand with her own, stepping within the crippled man's guard and decapitating him before he could utter so much as a shout of pain. When she returned to her quarters with the lanvorak slung over one shoulder, Kale bowed his head in resignation.

"Did you know?" Vilesha asked simply. The Twi'lek shook his head.

"He didn't tell me anything. I think he assumed I would have tipped you off."

"Would you have?"

The silence stretched, broken only as Vilesha replaced the lanvorak in its mount. Finally, Kale sighed. "Yes. To stop it ending like this. I never liked the man, but I didn't wish death upon him. And..."

"And?"

Vilesha took the Twi'lek's chin in her hand and tipped his head upwards. He swallowed. "Because I am yours, mistress. Now and forever."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written May 2017, expanded and revised prior to posting.


End file.
